The jungle appeared as the floor opened and sprouted enormous trees, gorgeous plants and boulders. This caused a mass riot of wrinklies and blue coats. Thankfully, I was skilled enough to harm no one. However, the lions, tigers and baboons that came with the jungle were a little iffy. Snapping my fingers, I made sure all the wildlife that had shown up were vegetarian. The produce section was now under attack. It was far better than the wrinklies ending up as lunch. I would have felt just awful about that.
“My goodness,” Jim Bob squeaked with delight as a colorful parrot landed on his shoulder and eyed him warily. “Glorious.”
I cast a sideways glance at my new human wrinkly buddy. The parrot pecked Jim Bob’s bald head seven times and then flew away, leaving a dropping on his shoulder. That was odd. My parrots usually loved humans. Pecking a human in the head seven times was terribly rude. And Jim Bob’s reaction? Bizarre. Why wasn’t he terrified? A huge dose of unfathomable magic had just dropped into his local grocery store and crapped on his shoulder, yet he was enjoying it. Jim Bob Bob-Bob was a strange little human indeed.
“Jim Bob,” I said, eyeing him. “Why aren’t you screaming in terror?”
He smiled his toothless grin and shrugged. “I’m a lonely old widower and this is the most excitement I’ve seen in years.”
“Children?”
“Sadly, no. My Cora Bell Bob-Bob was never able to have them,” he said, shaking his head and giving me a sad smile. “But we had good times, Cora Bell and me. Miss her something awful. You married?”
“Why?” Satan inquired with a grunt of amusement. “You want to date her?”
Jim Bob gave Satan a stern look that actually silenced him. This wrinkly was indeed interesting.
“I’d be honored to have such a lovely gal on my arm for a stroll through the park… or grocery store… or jungle,” he told my son. “But I would never encroach on your territory—even if you are a rude one. Not to mention I’m too old for a hottie like your wife.”
Satan was grossed out and positively speechless. So was I. The mistake was hilarious and wildly incorrect. However, I could see how Jim Bob had made it. Immortals stopped aging around thirty. I was thousands of times older than my sweet toothless admirer, but that was not something I was about to share. The human mind could only understand so much without imploding.
“He’s not my husband,” I explained to Jim Bob as Satan gagged and began to systematically blow up the shelving that my jungle had left intact. “He’s my son. My very naughty son.”
“You should take that little devil over your knee and teach him some respect,” Jim Bob offered.
I froze as did Satan. My eyes narrowed and I gazed at Jim Bob Bob-Bob with a bit of alarm. Rarely in life were mistakes made. Fate didn’t like to play that way. Had I grabbed a wrinkly that was necessary to my cause? Or was I about to do something stupid?
Probably stupid…
“Repeat that, Jim Bob,” I said as Satan stopped blowing up what was left of the grocery store and joined me. We observed Jim Bob like he was a science experiment gone wrong.
“You should take that little devil over your knee and teach him some respect,” he repeated, looking a little worried.
“Engrossing choice of words, wrinkly,” Satan pointed out. “Exactly how old are you?”
“Kind of a rude question,” Jim Bob pointed out.
“Yes, I know. Thank you,” Satan replied much to Jim Bob’s confusion.
Something was amiss and my son would never get to the bottom of it without massive property damage or torture. I’d already destroyed the grocery store so I was good for at least an hour. Destruction or sex with Bill calmed me. Since an orgasm was off the table at the moment, destruction would have to do.
“Jim Bob,” I said, swatting off a baboon who was far too fascinated with my jewels—they just loved shiny things. “Tell me about your Cora Bell Bob-Bob please.”
Jim Bob’s smile grew wistful. “She was a real beauty, my Cora Bell. Her hair was as black as night and skin as pale as an albino—actually paler than an albino. She had a temper like a powder keg and never had much of an appetite. Our town was real dangerous when my Cora Bell was alive.”
Satan glanced over at me and raised a brow. I raised mine right back. Clearly, I’d gotten Betsy Cocker’s address incorrect, but might still be in the right place at the right time. I had no clue as to why, but following my gut had always paid off.
“Dangerous you say?” I pressed.
“Oh yes ma’am,” Jim Bob replied with a chuckle. “We were known as Love Bite City back then. People would wake up in the morning ‘round here with hickeys like you wouldn’t believe. It was something else.”
“I’m quite certain it was something else,” Satan muttered. “So how did your Cora Bell expire?”
Jim Bob shuddered and his chin fell to his chest. “It was just awful. It was after a night of drinking—well I was drinking. My gal couldn’t eat or drink due to her being an albino.”
“Albinos can’t eat or drink?” I asked, confused. I was going to look that up on the internet. Although the internet was kind of bullshit as it had given the wrong address for Betsy Cocker.
“For the love of everything illegal and immoral,” Satan snapped. “Let the wrinkly talk.”
“Fine,” I pouted. With a covert snap of my fingers, I turned the color of my son’s impeccably cut black Hugo Boss suit to hot pink.
Satan was appalled, but Jim Bob didn’t blink an eye. Hmm…
“Do go on, Jim Bob,” I said.
“Well, now, Cora Bell and I were getting all feisty like we usually did every third Saturday. My gal gave me a hickey to end all hickeys. Pretty sure I passed out from that black and blue necktie, if you know what I mean,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“I’m quite sure I don’t,” I replied, slightly appalled. How could an old human wrinkly who enjoyed getting tramp stamps on his neck be relevant to the world ending?
“I do,” Satan said.
“Of course, you do,” I said with an eye roll. “Keep talking, Jim Bob Bob-Bob.”
“Well, it was just a real nice night. Next morning, we were both a little groggy from all the fun. Cora Bell went outside to grab the newspaper and POOF. She just blew up like a tick full of blood on a hound.”
“Explain the poof,” Satan said flatly as his eyes glowed a menacing red.
Jim Bob gulped. The pink suit didn’t get him, but the Devil’s eyes certainly did. However, to be fair, the Devil’s eyes got everyone.
“Since she was an albino, she just blew right up in the sun,” Jim Bob whispered, watching Satan closely. “Turned to ash. Saved me a pretty penny not having to cremate her and all.”
“That’s certainly practical of you,” Satan said, moving into Jim Bob’s personal space. “Did it ever occur to you that your Cora Bell was as dead as a doornail the day you met her?”
“Lucifer,” I hissed. “Be careful.”
Revealing ourselves was not the smartest thing we could do. Although humans rarely believed us when we did. But Jim Bob Bob-Bob was different. I wasn’t sure if he was good different or bad different.
“Not to worry mother,” he replied, sounding every bit the ruler of Hell. “Mind wiping is delightful.”
“Won’t work,” Jim Bob told the Devil with a chuckle that wasn’t as cute as his earlier one.
“And why is that?” Satan inquired in a tone that made the hair on my neck stand up.
“Cause I already told you I have bingo at noon,” Jim Bob replied, nonplussed.
Checking his watch, he glanced up and smiled. Jim Bob’s eyes were now fathomless black pits of evil and I gasped. Satan growled and his beautiful body lit up in flames. The old wrinkly wasn’t shocked at all by my dastardly son’s appearance. The surprise in our expressions seemed to amuse the old man, whom I was now quite sure wasn’t human at all.
“Nice to meet you, Satan and Mother Nature. Good luck finding Betsy Cocker. I’m quite sure I’ll be seein
g you soon,” Jim Bob said as he pulled a small white plastic horse from his pocket, held it high in the air and then snapped it in two. With a laugh that would give me nightmares for a few centuries, he disappeared in a cloud of putrid black and green smoke.
“What the Hell was that?” I shouted as I flapped my hands to clear the acrid vapor still lingering.
Satan was positively furious. Glittering black magic swirled through the grocery store, further freaking out the workers and remaining wrinklies. “The end times are near, mother,” he whispered, his eyes still glued to the cart that Jim Bob had been sitting in only seconds ago.
“How do you know?” I demanded, realizing my dream was most definitely a warning.
“That bastard Jim Bob Bob-Bob is not human,” he said in an emotionless tone.
“Clearly,” I replied, throwing my hands in the air. “Is he a Demon?”
“Nope,” my beautiful evil son replied, kicking the cart over and causing it to explode into thousands of tiny metal pieces.
“Then what is he? A Vampyre?”
“Nope.”
Stomping my foot and causing a mini earthquake, I got up in my beloved son’s face. “I do not have time for the guessing game,” I snapped. “If the end times are indeed coming, I have things to do. What is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?”
“Not what, mother. The question is who is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?” he said with a sigh of weariness that made me realize how old we both truly were.
“Fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll bite. Who is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?”
“The Antichrist. Jim Bob Bob-Bob is the fucking Antichrist,” Satan spat.
“Are you sure?” I demanded, feeling quite ill.
“Positive. Did you see his eyes?”
Nodding, I shuddered. “And the white plastic horse?”
“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he just broke the first seal,” Satan growled. “Granted the asshole wasn’t riding the white horse or wearing a crown and carrying a bow, but…”
“So he’s a cut-rate version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” I asked, wishing Satan had left a few shelves intact for me to blow up.
“That or he’s fucking with us. You’ll have to excuse me, mother,” Satan said, gently kissing the top of my head. “I need to go to Hell and prepare my army. Will you speak with my brother of this?”
Nodding again so I didn’t cry, I hugged my boy. “We will meet in Nirvana in an hour. You will obey me.”
Closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair, he gave me a curt nod. “As you wish.”
“I love you,” I whispered as I kept my arms wrapped around his huge frame.
“And I you,” he said with a chuckle. “However, if you repeat it, I’ll deny it to my dying day, which might be sooner than anticipated.”
In a blast of black glitter, the Devil went back to Hell.
And me? I needed to find Betsy Cocker. Immediately.
And I had an idea how. It was a bad idea. But at this point, I was going to go with anything that was even slightly reasonable and mostly legal.
But first, I needed a meeting with both of my sons. Maybe I could bring Good and Evil together and call it a day. And maybe not. Nothing was ever easy.
Heaven and Hell help us all.
Chapter Four
“The Antichrist was at the grocery store,” Satan announced with his back turned rudely to his brother.
It was a rather bizarre statement and all the more alarming because it was accurate.
“Repeat,” God demanded, staring holes into the back of Lucifer’s head.
Inviting my children to the same plane much less in close proximity was tricky. I adored both of my boys equally and loved each from the bottom of my heart. However, if they burnt Nirvana to ash, I would kick both of their asses and give them a time out in Purgatory. Purgatory was far worse than Hell—beige, boring and the music was horrifying. Today they would get along. There was no alternative. I didn’t care how important they thought they were.
“Sorry,” Satan said with a smirk, cupping his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you over that loud and wildly emasculating ensemble you’re wearing.”
This was not going well. Granted the Devil had a point. God was clad in what I could only describe as a sparkling white softball uniform. My angelic son was so otherworldly beautiful, he was able to pull off the sportswear—mostly. Of course, he was number one—he was God after all. But the twinkling lights outlining the numeral were a bit much even for me. And I was waaaaay over the top.
“If you’re waiting for me to care what you think, I certainly hope you brought a snack because it’s going to be a very long time,” God replied to Satan with a smile so beautiful I giggled.
“Always taking the good boy’s side,” Satan muttered with an eye roll.
“I’m taking no one’s side,” I said, planting my hands on my hips and giving them what I called the mom-ball—or evil eye if one needed a full explanation. “We have an issue and I need both of you to help me.”
God sighed and then grinned at his brother. “You really only annoy me when you breathe.”
Satan’s bellow of laughter made me release the breath I held. One never quite knew how a meeting between good and evil would pan out. Not that Satan was all evil or God was all good. Satan didn’t create evil. He simply punished it—and he was quite adept at doing so. The Devil seriously enjoyed pointing out that it was his brother who had given man free will—hence in a very roundabout and extremely gray way, God was responsible for evil.
Semantics.
The world would tilt off its axis if either one of them fell down on the job. There was no such thing as pure evil or pure good. Well… the Antichrist might fall into the pure evil section.
“Touché, brother,” Satan said, still smiling. “I came here hoping for a battle of wits, but even I wouldn’t attack someone who’s unarmed.”
“Point to Lucifer,” God said, chuckling. “However, you might want to save your breath to blow up your next paramour.”
“Enough,” I snapped, trying not to grin. I did love it when they got along—along being a relative word. As long as no lightning bolts or fire were thrown, we were good. “Fate would not be pleased with that kind of talk. You know your brother is mated to her now. Be nice.”
“My apologies,” God said to Satan with sincerity.
It took everything Satan had not to rudely retort. His body language was a dead giveaway as his hands were clenched at his sides and his eyes blazed red. Lucifer had found real love and Hell hadn’t even frozen over. It was miraculous. God knew it as well as I did. However, since we were here to discuss the end times, Satan kept his behavior in check. Plus, it was difficult to be rude to God when he was lovingly sincere—even the Devil was susceptible to his brother’s charm.
“My Elle goes by Luck—not Fate. Granted, determining and safeguarding fate is her job, the name is tainted by the last one who held the position,” Satan said tightly.
“Understatement,” God agreed.
As of now, the original Fate was being held in stasis in Heaven—a punishment more severe than death. She had gotten power-hungry and so evil there was no other choice. She had denied that Fate was three entities and had almost destroyed her own race of Sirens in the process of trying to take over the world.
Payback was a bitch and in her case it sucked. Thankfully, she was out of the picture permanently. Elle and her mother, Sadie, now took turns as the keepers of fate.
“So back to business,” I said, offering my boys some coffee and cookies I’d whipped up in preparation of having them both to my palace in Nirvana.
“Thank you, but I’m full—ate before I came,” God said, turning a little green.
“Not in the mood to be poisoned today,” Satan chimed in, not bothering to be as tactful as his well-mannered brother.
“That’s impolite,” I hissed and placed the tray I was carrying on an ancient stump covered in velvety soft moss, purple posies and yellow b
uttercups. “I used a recipe this time instead of winging it. I’m eighty-seven percent sure I used coffee beans instead of lima beans today and the cookies should be fine.”
“Have you tried one?” Satan inquired with a raised brow as a grin pulled at his beautiful lips.
Shit. He had me there. I hadn’t. After my luncheon and Bill’s observation about my cooking skills, I was hesitant to taste my culinary creations. Bill had offered to try it, but I could tell he was terrified and gave him a pass.
“Umm… actually, I haven’t tried them,” I said, tentatively picking up a cookie and raising it to my lips.
“Nope,” God yelled, diving forward like he was sliding into second base and removing the sugary treat from my hand.
Wait… had I even used sugar?
“No time for a bout of food poisoning, mother,” God said kindly, kissing the top of my head—or as kindly as he could while insulting my baking prowess. “So back to the grocery store.”
Satan rolled his eyes and began to pace. “I already told you the fucking Antichrist was at the grocery store.”
God too began to pace. “Highly unusual,” he said tightly. “The end times are not scheduled for any date in the near future.”
“Then what the Hell was the Antichrist doing shopping for cake mix?” Satan demanded.
“Are you certain it was the Antichrist?” God asked, squinting his eyes at his brother. “You’ve been known to be a bit untruthful in the past.”
Satan lifted both of his middle fingers and winked at God. “I truly wish I had more hands so I could flip you off properly. And while I delight in falsehood, I’m not mistaken.”
God grinned and shrugged. “The village called. They would like their idiot back. You should probably go.”
Again, Satan laughed. Again, I let myself breathe. Being the mother of two very strong-willed boys who could end existence was trying at times—like now.
“You know, someone wasted a perfectly good asshole when they put teeth in your mouth,” Satan told his brother and then yawned. “Please keep spouting nonsense. I only yawn when I’m fascinated.”
“If I threw a stick, you’d leave. Right?” God inquired, sitting down on a tree swing and enjoying himself.
A Fashionable Fiasco Page 4